Page 8 of Seven Swans a Swimming

But he was not, and as such, Arabella had a far more intimate view of the man standing before her.

It was not purely mud, therefore, but a dark scratchy beard that coated his face, descending down his neck and into his smock. Arabella swallowed. She had never seen a gentleman’s neck like that, utterly unadorned, no cravat protecting his dignity.

And speaking of protecting his dignity, the smock was loose fitting, but the sleeves were rolled up, revealing strong forearms with a sprinkling of dark hair. Nathaniel’s hands were large, strong. She could see a few calluses on them, as though he had been working as hard as his smock suggested.

All in all, the very picture of manhood.

Arabella swallowed. Was it just her, or was it getting warm, even without her pelisse?

What would it be to be held in those arms—touched by those hands—kissed by a mouth surrounded by beard?

Heat flushed through her, and Arabella was certain that her cheeks had pinked, but she could not help it. It was natural, wasn’t it, to wonder about these things?

They were engaged to be married, after all. He must have thought about it. They would not merely be sharing a life together, but a bed. They would make love, make children. They would know each other far more intimately than anyone else in the world.

And if she was to do such things, would she enjoy them? Would he please her, pleasure her, make her feel—

“Miss Fitzroy?”

Arabella started. Nathaniel had taken an awkward step toward her, concern on his face. Evidently, she had been thinking too long.

She cleared her throat. “I am a little tired from the journey.”

Nathaniel nodded. “You should rest. Dinner will be at seven.”

Arabella smiled. Dinner at seven. She was not certain she would be able to sit before such a fine specimen of a man and have a reasonable conversation. Not when she had so many questions. Questions only he could answer.

“And after dinner, I hope we will have the chance to talk together. Just the two of us, I mean,” Arabella said with what she hoped was a winning smile. “There are so many things I wish to ask, to know about you—though I suppose as I am staying for Christmas, we will have plenty of time.”

Nathaniel took another few steps toward her, until he stood right before her. Arabella’s breath caught in her throat. He smelled of the countryside and hard work and a job well done. He smelled…of woodsmoke and barley and something else she could not make out.

“Really?” he said coldly. “And just what do we have to discuss?”

Was he teasing? That was always the trouble, Arabella thought, with meeting a new person. One never knew quite what their sense of humor was.

“Why, our engagement, of course,” Arabella said with a wry smile. “I was always told that correspondence was out of the question before we met in person, a rule my father put into place, do not ask me why, but that has meant that naturally I have many questions.”

Nathaniel looked down at her imperiously, and Arabella swallowed. What it would be like to be kissed by those lips, rough and sweet at the same time. She shivered.

“Ah yes, the engagement,” said Nathaniel in a low voice. Arabella could not help but watch his lips as he spoke. “If it goes ahead. If I like what I see, of course. Dinner at seven, Miss Fitzroy.”

He strode away from her before Arabella could reach out and grab him—something she certainly would have done to make him stay and talk to her like a reasonable gentleman.

“If you like—excuse me, Lord Nathaniel, if you like what you see?” Arabella called after him as Nathaniel strode across the hall to the stairs. “What on earth do you mean by that?”

He turned at the base of the stairs, and she was struck by just how handsome he was—a distracting thought that she tried to push aside. A gentleman could not be handsome if he was so rude and infuriating as this man. Could barely be a gentleman!

“I am under no illusion of the agreement our parents made, Miss Fitzroy, but an agreement can be unmade,” Nathaniel said curtly. “It was not of my doing. It could be my undoing. I will not be at dinner, good night.”

Arabella stared, unable to speak and utterly incensed, as her supposed future husband walked away from her. The cheek of it! The very outrage that he may look at her and find her wanting—when she was at least dressed like a lady and had been warm and polite.

Narrowing her eyes, Arabella sighed heavily. She would prove herself to this man and had the entirety of Christmas to do it.

Chapter Three

Arabella stared atthe looking glass. It was framed in gold gilt, with little cherubs at the top, painted gold, who were playing trumpets.

To announce her beauty, she thought wryly, tugging at one sleeve of her gown that did not seem to want to match the other. It was most irritating. One of the few times in her life she actually cared what she looked like, when there was someone there to look goodfor, and nothing seemed to be working.

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